


Every Other Day

by kurofu



Series: Prompt-Fills [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A man that has very low EQ and only takes, Coming Untouched, Consensual Underage Sex, Gratuitous Smut, Harry is a BIG emotional mess, Harry needs a therapist, Harry thinks he's smart, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Promiscuous Harry Potter, Secret Relationship, Sex Addiction, not Voldemort, when he's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-03-17 05:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18958747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurofu/pseuds/kurofu
Summary: Prompt: Smut. NSFW. Harry is on a floo call with his parents. They want him home ASAP... before nightfall because of a slew of murders that's been going around perpetrated by Death Eaters. He says he's coming home soon, but he's saying this while he's getting fucked by the Dark Lord. He doesn't know his secret fuck buddy/boyfriend is Voldemort. Yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emriel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/gifts).



> Not an exercise, but a prompt-fill. I'll catch up on the weeks I missed, I promise.
> 
> To Emriel, one of my favourite writers in the fandom. I hope this met your expectations!
> 
> Beta'd by Miraculous

Harry moaned into the sheets when his lover thrust his hips particularly harsh into him. His body sagged when the cock inside him retreated but tensed when it came back in, coincidentally brushing his prostate and making Harry moan even louder. 

His lover's cock was a good deal bigger than Harry's, both in length and in girth. It stretched him quite more than the adult dildos he had bought or the developing cocks of his year mates. And Harry loved every bit of it. 

Another hard thrust made him whimper, and Harry gathered the silk sheets into his mouth to stop the shameful, whorish sounds that dripped from his mouth like sin. 

A large hand threaded through his hair, soft as it petted his unruly curls before it seized a handful and dragged his head upwards. The cock inside him shifted in angle and jabbed his prostate, causing Harry to _scream_.

He glared back at his lover, his dark eyes smug as he lazily fucked into Harry. As much as Harry loved his lover's cock, his personality left much to be desired. 

“You're a dick, you know that?” Harry got out between pants. His lover had decided to sheathe himself all the way in, keeping pressure on Harry's prostate, and rock into him instead. 

Moments later, Harry was coming. Loud and long. 

His ass clenched around the cock, his insides flexing around the organ to milk it. But unlike the early-ejaculates of his classmates, nothing came out.

Harry wasn't disappointed, far from it actually. 

His hair was released and he dropped back onto the mattress below, boneless and panting. He glanced back at his lover who gazed appreciatively at Harry's fucked out form: ass up, back in lordosis and kneeling in his own pile of come. 

“You know I don't like it when you cover up your moans,” his lover said as if the sky was fucking blue and he didn't have his cock up Harry's ass. “I like listening to the noises you make, so vocal you are. It means… _you like it_.”

That was all the warning Harry received before hands grasped his hips and slammed him up and down on the cock spreading him open, setting a fast, rough rhythm. Harry could only whine pitifully as his overstimulated body was being plundered. His spent cock began to harden in interest again. 

Their relationship was an unconventional one, Harry and his lover. His lover had a name— _call me Marvolo_ —but Harry didn't like to call him that. It made their meetings less like a transaction and more of a… _date_. 

Harry had wanted—no, _needed_ a good fuck when he had met Marvolo. Harry hadn't had sex for nearly two weeks, and it had begun to show. It had even gotten to the point where Harry was willing to drop his pants for the next cock he saw, tested and safe sex be damned. He had been twitchy and irritable as hell and his parents had begun to get suspicious. And that wouldn't do. 

It's uncomfortable to acknowledge, but Harry, as young as he was, was a sex addict. 

And Marvolo was there to give him a good fuck and some pocket money, and a good excuse for Harry not to be with his friends. Ever since their first encounter, Harry met up with the man thrice a week, either in a rented room or the man's own home. To be quite honest, Harry didn't know Marvolo's occupation, his magical affliction, or even his age—hell, Harry could be fucking a man the same age as his parents! 

It was dangerous, Harry knew, but each time, after their fucking, Marvolo would give him 30 galleons, much more than his monthly allowance of a meager 10. And with the rate of 90 galleons every week, Harry could support his addiction with all the lube and toys he needed without alerting his parents. He can also save them for his post-Hogwarts education, something Harry wanted to pursue in his future. 

When Harry came back from his second post-orgasmic bliss, he noticed a slight buzzing sound. He pushed off Marvolo, who was sucking bruises on Harry's neck and slipped off the still hard cock. He staggered to where his clothes and bag were and dug around. 

Not too long later, Marvolo pressed up to his back, sliding his cock between the crevice of Harry's ass cheeks. “What's wrong?” He murmured into Harry's skin, his hands wandering, “I'm still hard, you know? It's unfair that you've come thrice already and yet I still haven't even once.”

“Stop it,” Harry batted Marvolo away. “Fuck! My parents want me to floo-call them.” He turned in Marvolo's arm and stared at his stupidly handsome face. But Marvolo wasn't looking at him. Harry followed his gaze to the pocket watch in his hand. 

“Is this how your parents contact you?” 

Harry gave out a slight moan in reply when Marvolo's hands went to pinch a nipple, rolling it between skilled fingers. 

“What an interesting contraption.” And it was. His parents had taken inspiration from the Weasley's grandfather clock, but instead of showing how Harry was, it showed his parents. The watch face was split into five equal segments: home, late, floo-call, injured, and missing. The pocket watch came to life again, buzzing insistently in Harry's hand, the needle on ‘floo-call.’ 

Harry pulled away, tossing the pocket watch at Marvolo who was so fascinated by it. “I'm borrowing your floo, okay?”

He walked over to the black marble fireplace and threw in a pinch of floo-powder. The orange flame turned green upon contact with the dust, and Harry kneeled down to whisper _Potter Manor_ into it. Because despite the fact he and Marvolo had been fucking for over a year, Harry still knew to protect his identity. 

“Hey Mum, hey Dad!” Harry stuck his head into the fireplace, his body stretching. “What's up?” 

His parents were sitting on the living room couch, poorly concealed worry on their faces. He gave them a bright, boyish smile and the tensions in their body seemed to relax. 

“Hey Harry,” his mum started, “we wanted to know when you're coming home.”

“In about two hours.”

“That late?” His dad frowned. “It's nearly four in the afternoon right now.”

“The project's taking longer than we expected. We had to scrap our old model and go to Diagon Alley to buy new supplies.” Harry explained. More like Knockturn Alley, Marvolo bought him a new set of anal beads for him to use at home, but his parents didn't need to know that. 

“Oh? What was wrong with it?” Mum asked, ever the Transfiguration intrigue in their house. “Do you need help with it?”

Harry had told his parents that the project he and his classmate were working on was about transfiguring an inanimate object into a golem. One that can have the same functions as a muggle. Something that both he and his actual schoolmate had finished weeks ago. 

Maybe he could make his own personal golem, sculpt out a cock on it and model it after Marvolo, then he wouldn't have to wait every other day just to be fucked. Or maybe Harry should go out and find some other cocks to fill in the gap days. All his other adult contacts didn't seem to work anymore…

“We messed up with the—” Harry wretched his head out of the fireplace. “What do you think you're _doing_?” He hissed at Marvolo who settled himself behind Harry, large hands on his hips. And that’s when he remembered that they were both naked. Marvolo only gave him a raised brow, before he lined up with Harry's still loose hole and sank in. 

Harry stifled his moan as Marvolo bottomed out, resting his chest to Harry's back. He licked a strip from Harry's shoulder to his ear, where he purred, “I'm fucking you,” and nibbled on the meat of his ear. 

“Well stop it!” Harry protested, “I'm talking to my parents right now!”

Mavolo hummed in thought and began pulling out and thrusting back in. “Mmm. I don't want to. Just continue talking with them, don't mind me.”

“You—!” Harry's were drowned out by his groan when Marvolo pressed in deep. Harry hurriedly slapped a hand to his mouth to prevent any more noise from leaking out. 

“What are you doing? I thought you were going to talk to your parents.” Marvolo admonished and peeled Harry's hand from his face and kept it pinned to his back. “How are you going to talk to them like that?” With a harsh thrust, Harry’s head was pushed back into the fireplace, effectively cutting off any arguments he had. 

This fucking prick, Harry thought, as he apologized to his parents for his sudden departure. How was he supposed to talk when he had a cock pounding his ass? At least there wasn't any come or excess lube to make any noticeable sounds. That would…hopefully, be later. 

“Mum, y-you know that this project is something that we can't have adults help w-with. We'll get points off if we did!” Harry struggled to get out, his voice raising an octave when Marvolo decided just fucking deep wasn't enough and added a finger into the mix. 

“Harry, are you okay?” Another finger? This fucking asshole! 

“Yeah, Mum, I'm f-fine.” Harry made an annoyed face, which wasn't hard right now. Marvolo's fingers stretched his hole even more than just his cock, a delicious pain that Harry would enjoy when he wasn't in a conversation with his _parents_. “It's just, I'm a bit stressed and annoyed that p-people have offered their help when we don't need it.”

“Oh, I see, sorry Harry.” Mum apologized, “you know how much I enjoy Transfiguration.”

“I do, Mum, and it's not your fault that I'm a-annoyed.”

An awkward silence settled between the three of them, and Harry bit his lips to stifle any noise Marvolo tried to wrench out of him. He didn't know how well floo-calls can pick up sound, and he didn't want to find out. 

His dad was the one to break the silence. “Well, Son, we're just worried about you. What with the war going on and all. We don't want you caught up in anything you shouldn't be in. Especially with how You-Know-Who has gained more in power; the Death Eaters have been more active lately because of it, Harry, be careful, alright?”

“Alright, Dad. I'll be careful.” Harry promised, inwardly unnerved by the topic about You-Know-Who and his slew of murderous Death Eaters. They made everyone wary and frightened when there shouldn't be any at all in the Summer Holidays. “I'll be home before supper!”

The moment the call ended, Marvolo ripped his fingers out of Harry's ass and dragged him back onto his cock, away from harm's way when the fire turned back to orange. Harry could only gasp at the sudden change in position, shocked still when Marvolo's cock seemed to be much larger and punch deeper into his gut with each thrust. 

Marvolo's name fell off Harry's lips like a mantra. The position was _amazing_ , and Harry was reminded of their first night where Harry swore Marvolo ruined any other cocks for him. Marvolo had suddenly become more aggressive when his dad brought up You-Know-Who and his terrorists of Death Eaters. Maybe Marvolo had a grudge on them or something, Harry wasn't complaining nor could he think much right now really. 

Harry screamed when another orgasm was pulled out of him, and Marvolo's hips began to stutter. A silent scream tore from Harry's throat when sharp teeth pierced the skin of his shoulder, and hot ropes of come shot into him, filling him to the brim. 

Harry sank back, boneless and content on Marvolo's chest, his sex drive satisfied for now. He let out a hiss when Marvolo's teeth released his shoulder but did nothing else. 

They kneeled there beside the fireplace, the warm heat of it evaporating the sweat off their skin. Harry placed a hand to his shoulder, but Marvolo nudged it away so Harry dropped it to his stomach where he could feel Marvolo's softening cock inside of him. “What was that for?” He murmured sleepily, his head nuzzling Marvolo's shoulder. 

A tongue slowly lapped at the welling blood, pressing apologetic kisses to the wound. “Sorry about that, I got a bit worked up there.”

Harry gave a noncommittal hum, basking in the attention Marvolo was giving him. 

“I noticed you said two hours,” Marvolo commented idly, his hands wandering the plane of Harry's tan skin. “You want another round?”

Harry could feel his cock stirring in interest again, and Harry nodded slowly in agreement. But first, he needed to recharge. “After 30 minutes?” He mumbled. 

“After 30 minutes,” Marvolo confirmed. Slowly, he pulled Harry off his cock and shushed him when he whined at the emptiness. Come splattered onto the floor from his abused hole, trickling down his thighs as Marvolo stood, Harry in his arms. Marvolo carried him bridal-style, and normally Harry would complain because they weren't a couple and Harry wasn't helpless, but Harry was too tired to care. 

“I wanna try out the beads next,” Harry demanded when Marvolo set him down onto the bed. Harry grasped onto Marvolo's biceps when he moved to pull away. 

“With my cock?”

“With your cock,” Harry agreed sleepily, nodding his head before letting Marvolo go. 

Marvolo let out a huff of laughter. “Alright, you little minx, I'll fuck you as you use the beads. Now sleep.”

Harry turned to his side, eyes drifting off to sleep and smiling to himself, knowing that his demands would be met. Honestly, if Harry allowed himself, he would make Marvolo his official boyfriend. Marvolo was perfect in every way. He was rich, good looking, a great fucker, kind when he wanted to be and took care of Harry. He was everything Harry wanted a man to have— 

But he couldn't because Harry knew he and his family would be ruined if he did so. 

If word got out that the eldest son of Head Auror James Potter and Head Healer Lily Potter was a sex addict, then the Potter name would be the laughing stock of society. But if the Dark Lord, You-Know-Who, found out that the son of two favored, prominent members of the Light would willingly fuck a stranger older than he, then… Harry shuddered to even think about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Featuring an emotionally inept man and an emotional wreck of a boy.

“Marvolo, Marvolo, Marvolo, Marvolo—!”

The minx screamed, curling into his form as Voldemort fucked into him, the knobs of his bent spine scraping against the wall. His form shuddering with the force of his thrusts, being dragged up and down harshly as Voldemort snapped his hips upwards to meet him. The boy was a babbling mess: face contorted in pleasure, the green of his eyes rolled back into his head, saliva spilling from the open mouth, fresh come cooling on his own stomach.

Voldemort grunted as Harry clenched harder around his cock, a terrible vice-like grip as he pushed in and out, making the boy’s hole as virginal as he once was, once upon a time. “Hey,” he commented, struggling to lift Harry on his cock on a steady rhythm, the hungry hole acting like a vacuum and sucking him in deeper and deeper with no reprieve. “You’re going to cut off my cock with how hard you’re squeezing me. You’d like that, won’t you? You’d like to castrate me just so you can use it as a dildo anytime you’d like, wouldn’t you?”

The only words that left Harry’s mouth was a litany of _more, harder, faster!_ —as if nothing else existed in the world aside from Harry and the cock that was fucking into him. Maybe it was. Maybe Voldemort had fucked him enough that the boy’s brain cells had mashed together and left him in a state that had Harry forgetting not only reality but also his intelligence. 

“Hey, answer me.” Voldemort shook the boy that bounced on his cock. “Are you that fucked out that you can’t even reply to a simple question? I thought you were one of Hogwarts’ best students? Guess the best students aren’t worth much when they’re being fucked to heaven, huh?” He punctuated his words with a harsh thrust.

“Noooo,” Harry moaned, head lolling onto the wall as Voldemort fucked the life out of him. His hands lax on Voldemort’s back, too weak to claw at the muscles for dear life as he had at the beginning.

“No? To what? That you’re one of Hogwarts’ best students or that you don’t want my cock? Maybe I should just let you go, stop fucking you and leave you all alone on the floor. Lock the door and keep you here with no-one to fill this wanton, greedy hole.”

The legs around his hips wrapped tighter at the threat, the bite of Harry’s nails rejuvenated as he held onto Voldemort. The boy lifted his head to place sloppy, drunk kisses to Voldemort’s neck as if in apology.

“No, please, don’t stop fucking me. Please. I’m sorry.” He begged between kisses, looking up at Voldemort with teary green eyes, his voice wavering and hiccuping, the sign of an oncoming crying fit. “I don’t wanna castrate you. I don’t want you to stop fucking me either. P-please.”

Voldemort only sighed, oh the things he does for the boy. He slowed his tempo, choosing instead to roll slowly up and meet Harry’s no doubt bruised ass. He raised one of his hands to press the unruly mop into his chest as the other hand shifted to balance his hold on the boy, lest he falls. The boy clutched to him as a scared child would a parent, unwilling to let go even as he cried. 

He breathed out another quiet sigh and looked up to the ceiling for patience. Teenagers were so hormonal, honestly. One moment, the boy in his arms was lustful and insatiable, now he was a sobbing wreck. 

Instead of voicing his opinion, Voldemort bent his head down onto Harry’s hair and whispered sweet nothings into it, breathing in the boy’s natural scent mixed with sweat and the smell of sex. 

“It’s okay,” he soothed, his hand running up and down the boy’s back, his fingers always catching on the knobs of the boy’s spine. Was he not eating enough as a growing teen, especially with the amount of exercise he got per week? Maybe Voldemort should invest in some light snacks before they have sex next time. He’d have to ask the boy—or perhaps just read it off his mind. The boy didn’t have a single shield in place after all.

“It’s alright, Harry, I’ve got you.” The boy only whimpered and cried more, Voldemort’s chest bearing the full brunt of the tears. “I’ve got you.” 

Despite the fact the boy was crying, his cock still hadn’t flagged yet, as hard as ever, and with each sob, the ring of muscle convulsed around him. “Let’s take you to bed, okay? I’ll fuck you nice and slow.” 

He was halfway to the bed when Harry finally reacted, a hesitant nod that was felt more than seen, so tiny that had the boy not had his head directly on Voldemort’s chest, he would have missed it. 

Gently, he placed the boy down onto the sheets, directly in the middle and with Voldemort above him. Harry looked delectable. 

The boy laid there on the dark silk sheets, curled into himself in a way that didn’t disrupt their joining, his tan skin flushed with both lust and shame, and arms held innocently to his chest as if he was a maiden, a damsel. 

Voldemort braced himself over Harry, sinking in slowly and pulling out just as slow. He licked the trails made by tears from jaw to cheek, lapping at the fat beads of welling tears, salt on his tongue. The sounds of whimpers pervading where moans and slapping flesh had once been, pathetic and pitiful.

This was a form of torture, to both he and the boy. 

It wasn’t in the contract after all. Lovemaking that was. And neither of them were used to the slow pace of sex that couples would do, the cuddling in the afterglow, or the raw sharing of emotions. Every meeting they’ve had had been fast, rough fucks, to avoid the necessary attachments that couples would have. 

But sometimes, the careful, slow sex that they avoid would be inevitable. When the boy was an emotional mess, tears pouring and breaths hitching, Voldemort would fuck him through it, holding him gently as if the boy would break. 

And maybe the boy would because his confidence and bravado certainly were made of glass.

The boy slowly began to unravel, the tenseness of his body loosening, and Voldemort took it as a sign to proceed. He leaned back on his haunches, the bed beneath shifting in weight, and he placed a hand beneath Harry’s knees. With care he didn’t have, Voldemort lifted them onto his shoulders, bending the boy’s body in half as if he was malleable clay before he began to deepen his thrusts at a leisurely pace.

 

 

The rules created by the boy were simple:

  1. Do not kiss on the lips.
  2. Do not create noticeable or non-coverable marks on commonly uncovered expanses of skin.
  3. Do not pry for personal details of any kind unrelating to their intimate transactions.
  4. Do not reveal their relationship to anyone at any cost.



Those were the very first things the boy had established upon their very first meeting. Their first business transaction that had passed through the boy's lips in a somewhat decrepit but modest room in a Knockturn Alley Inn. Defiant, yet hidden by shadows, as he sat on the bed, staring straight into Voldemort’s eyes, waiting for confirmation. It made his eyes glow, he had duly noted, and Voldemort had smirked as he accepted the terms, stripping slowly for the boy’s hungry gaze.

The boy had followed suit, hasty in the way he nearly tore through his own clothes. His glowing eyes ravenous as he had unabashedly stared at how well-endowed Voldemort was, a tongue swiping at lips like a starving man to a feast. The boy had crawled backwards onto the bed, in tune with Voldemort’s advancing steps, seductive in a way only an experienced would ever be.

When Voldemort had first heard wisps of a rumor from his youngest followers, he had not expected to see the Potter’s eldest child. 

Rumors that floated from his Seventh Years about an insatiable student from the Light, one that wouldn’t care if the people who fucked him were his parent’s enemies. An insatiable student that was described more as a succubus than wizard. An insatiable student that would participate or even organize intimate orgies in abandoned classrooms at hours past curfew. A good fuck, they had said, desperate for a cock up the ass.

Voldemort had seen it as an opportunity. 

The ongoing war had been stressful and Voldemort hadn’t had the time to have relief. But with the tempting offer of willing, nubile flesh that whispers say linger in the dark shadows of Knockturn Alley, Voldemort could not refuse. The opportunity to corrupt a Light child? Corrupt them in means that only adults should know with the “biggest, baddest, Darkest” man?

It was simply too enticing to hesitate on, lest someone lesser would prey on this carnal sin.

Oh, Voldemort had known what he was doing, he grew up beneath the strict Catholic teachings under Mrs. Cole, and when he first made contact with the Light child, he had been so surprised. Because not only were they _young_ , they were also the child of the Order of the Phoenix’s highest members.

If it wasn’t unbecoming of a Dark Lord, Voldemort would have laughed himself silly. Who would have thought that the one to go around asking for stranger’s cocks would be the boy who Dumbledore sees as his own grandchild? Truly this was a gift sent from fate, the opportunity to further taint a Light’s innocence with his dirty, Dark deeds.

Up they had went, his hand on the boy’s lower back as they walked up the stairs in the Vampire-owned Knockturn Inn. Without sparing a glance, Voldemort had tossed a handful of galleons at the hovelling old hag that manned the rooms. Enough to cover the cost of the room and more—enough to pay for a sin like this to be kept secret.

Atop the bed, the boy had put on a show, spreading his legs and toying with his hole, circling it with his fingers. He had thrown back his head when he reached in and grabbed the base of a slim toy pumping it in and out of himself slowly. Voldemort had watched, fascinated by the debauchery the boy doused himself in like a second skin.

Not long after, Voldemort had ripped out the toy, something cheap he had noticed, and threw it aside. Without letting the boy adjust, the gaping hole inviting, Voldemort had thrust in in one stroke. 

There was no need for any preparation or lube, the boy had made sure of it.

Their first session had lasted only a mere two hours, but it seemed to have satisfied the boy. More than once he had blacked out from the pleasure Voldemort was giving him, unused to the quality of it. Voldemort had inwardly preened when the boy had screamed multiple times that sex was ruined for him, how big and large and how much Voldemort filled the boy with each inward thrust, how the cocks he had had before could never be compared to Voldemort’s superior one.

Although he had spelled the door locked, Voldemort hadn’t bothered to raise a silencing ward. The boy’s screams must have been heard by everyone. Not that Voldemort had cared, let them all hear how he claimed this boy for his own.

The boy had looked drunk when they had finished, face euphoric as he had laid there on the bed, cock twitching as it spurted a weak stream of semen onto an already sullied body. Voldemort’s own seed pooled beneath the boy, drooling from his twitching hole. 

The boy had awoken from his haze moments later when a set alarm spell went off. Voldemort watched as he had struggled to get up, the beast inside him pleased when the boy fell back onto the bed with unstable legs, like a newborn colt. 

When both were clean from the sweat and come—any evidence of sex that they had just had removed, as if the sole purpose of their meeting had been strictly business and nothing else—they had exchanged names. He, “Marvolo” from his blasted muggle name, and the boy “Harry,” a diminutive of his name, Voldemort was sure.

Together they had set the terms for future meetings. A schedule for summers and a schedule for the school year. They would meet every other day for a minimum of an hour at an undisclosed location that would link to neither of them were they ever followed. 

No-one had known that Voldemort owned a private cottage, one he had bought from a muggle, surrounded by nothing but tall pine trees. Therefore he had given a plain ring to the boy as a portkey, one that was charmed to secretly surpass Hogwarts’ or any other anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards.

He had raised an eyebrow as the boy downed a Pepper-up potion from his own stash. Dangerous, if the boy has always had “meetings” like these and a vial of Pepper-up right after. He risked over-dosing, and that wouldn’t do because Voldemort had finally found a way to relax.

Voldemort had left stress-free that day, his body less strung up and tense as it had been for the past year. In his pockets was the cheap toy that the boy had used, something that he would destroy, and in its place on the bed was a small pouch of 30 galleons.

 

 

“Hmmm, welcome back,” Voldemort hummed into Harry’s ear, hips thrusting slowly into the boy’s ass.

“It’s uncomfortable,” Harry mumbled, body bent in half and head between his legs. He shifted his head away when Voldemort nibbled at a ticklish spot behind his ear. “Stop it.” But his protests were half-hearted at best, his emotional episode having left him drained. He pushed weakly at Voldemort’s body, but Voldemort pressed a bit more weight onto the boy, causing him to drop his arms in defeat.

“Are you sure you would want me to stop it? I can if I must, but we would also be stopping sex for our whole meeting as well.”

The boy shook his head, and his arms wrapped around Voldemort’s neck, pressing them closer together. The boy didn’t speak, only letting out tiny whimpers with each drag of Voldemort’s cock across his abused prostate. 

Time slowly trickled by, episodes like these meant that Voldemort needed to be gentle. A steady rocking presence as the boy took his time to come back to reality, back to where Voldemort was. The process could take from minutes to hours, depending on how far the boy had gone, how far the boy had brought up the memories. 

During moments like this is where the boy’s third rule came into play, but it was not as if Voldemort cannot guess what troubles the boy. It was guilt.

Guilt consumed the boy like a drowning man in the raging sea, the waves higher than muggle skyscrapers and more ferocious than a storm’s fury. 

It was boring but worth it, fucking an unresponsive body. Voldemort could take the time to plot out his next maneuver, glean whatever information regarding the Order of the Phoenix that the boy's parents would allow him on—Voldemort’s presence masked by the tempest within the boy’s mind. Yet what Voldemort looked forward to the most was when the boy would come back, when they could cut this farce of a coupling and return to the frenzied, rough sex of intimate acquaintances. 

A low whine brought Voldemort back to the present, the boy beneath him having just come all over himself, the muscles around his cock gripping weakly around it. Maybe it would be best if Voldemort came now, and allowed the boy time to himself in order to compartmentalize his own emotions. 

The boy sniffled when Voldemort came, his come pouring into the body beneath him, and the grip on his neck tightened for a second before it was let go entirely. Carefully, Voldemort pulled out, wiping clean the lingering come on his cock on the boy’s asscheeks. 

He stretched, his bones cracking, relief flooding into his muscles as he did so, having spent the better part of the hour crouching over the boy’s form. He should work on organizing a raid, Voldemort decided, there was too little time in the world for him to sit around and do nothing.

Voldemort patted at the boy’s bare thigh when he left the bed, a reassurance that the boy was given time to think. He wasn’t worried when the boy turned onto his side in the bed, staring listlessly at his retreating form. Why should he? After all, the boy would bounce back to him within the hour, libidinous in his desire to be filled once again. And Voldemort would be all too happy to comply.


End file.
